The Knave of Diamonds by Ethel May Dell (inspirational books for students txt) 📕

wake up now, Boney. I'm going to play the game. You've been playing my hand as well as your own till now. I'm going to relieve you of that."
"Hear, hear!" said Nap.
"You'll go to bed in your own room to-night," said Lucas, "go to bed and to sleep. In the morning we'll have a talk."
But when the morning came, his energy had flagged a little. He had not slept as well as usual, and though he had no pain he seemed disinclined for physical effort.
"I want a holiday to-day," he said to Capper. "Just let in the sunshine and leave me to bask."
There had been a spell of cold and sunless weather, but that day the sun shone gloriously. The genial warmth of it came in through the open window and flooded the room with the very essence of spring.
"I'm going to take a day off and enjoy it," smiled Lucas. "You take a day off too, doctor. Make the mater go out in the car. I shall do wonders to-morrow after a good laze to-day."
Capper looked him over keenly, pulled his beard, cracked his fingers, and yielded. "Guess a rest won't do you any harm. There's no reason to hustle you any that I can see."
And Lucas spent the whole morning basking in the sunshine in almost unbroken silence. He did not sleep at all. His eyes, remote and thoughtful, were for the most part watching the specks that danced and floated in the rays of light that streamed across his bed.
Nap forebore to disturb him, but he remained within call. He knew with sure intuition that sooner or later Lucas would summon him. Almost he knew what he would say.
The call came at last, very quiet and deliberate. "Boney!"
Instantly Nap presented himself.
"Come here a minute, old chap. No, I'm not wanting anything--only a word in private. Say, Boney, is Anne still stopping here?"
He had seen her nearly every day since the operation, but he had been too drowsy to ask any questions. He had only smiled upon her, and sometimes for a little had held her hand.
"She is backwards and forwards," said Nap. "I believe she is spending to-night."
"Ah! Then, Boney, I want you to speak to her--to-night." He looked up at his brother with his old, kindly smile. "It's for my own sake, old chap," he said. "You know, I didn't sleep last night. I was thinking about her--about you both. And I want her to know everything to-night. I shall sleep the easier when she knows."
Nap stood silent. His face was set in hard lines.
"Will you tell her, Boney?"
"What am I to tell her?" said Nap,
"Tell her the truth, dear fellow, so that she understands it. Make her realise that the dearest wish of my life is her happiness--and yours." He reached up a hand to the motionless figure beside him. "Just this one thing, Boney," he pleaded gently. "Remember--I came back because of it. It will be my happiness too. I want to feel that all is well between you. God knows I want it more than anything else on earth."
Nap gripped the proffered hand and held it fast.
"But she won't have me, you know," he said, after a moment. "She only forgave me because of you."
"Shucks, dear fellow! I guess that wasn't the reason."
"I wish to heaven you'd let me off," Nap said, with sudden vehemence. "Let me shunt first instead of last. It's more than I can face--even for you."
"But I guess you'll face it all the same," said Lucas gently. "And when it's over, come--both of you--and tell me."
He closed his eyes and turned his face to the sunshine. "So long, old chap!" he said. "Don't stay indoors. I'm not wanting you. Think I'll get to sleep presently. Don't let them wake me if I do."
But Nap lingered, still holding his hand. "Luke!" he said.
There was a note of entreaty in his voice, but, for the second time in his life, Lucas turned a deaf ear. The smile was still on his lips, but his eyes remained closed.
"Go, dear fellow!" he said softly. "And God bless you!"
And Nap turned with a set face and went straight from the room.


CHAPTER XVI
THE STRAIGHT GAME

It was drawing towards evening on that same day when Anne, who had been spending the afternoon at the Dower House, walked back across the park. She went by way of the stream along which she and Nap had once skated hand in hand in the moonlight, and as she went she stooped now and then to gather the flowers that grew in the grass beside her path. But her face as she did it was grave and thoughtful. She did not seem to notice their fragrance.
As she neared the lake she moved more slowly, and reaching a rustic seat beneath a cedar that shadowed the entrance to the gardens she sat down, her grey eyes fixed upon the water that gurgled at her feet.
A brilliant green dragon-fly, darting meteor-like across her vision, came presently to disturb her reverie. With a slight start she awoke, and leaned forward with an odd eagerness to mark its progress. As it flashed away through the shadows a quick sigh came to her lips. It was so fair a thing, so swiftly gone.
She gathered up her flowers and rose. And in that moment she knew that she was not alone.
How she knew it she could not have said. No sound or shadow told her. No hand touched her. Yet she knew.
For a few seconds she stood motionless on the edge of the stream. Then without turning she spoke.
"Were you looking for me?"
"Yes," he said.
He came to her side. They were close--close to that spot where once he had so arrogantly claimed her friendship. To-day it seemed he had no word to utter.
For a space she waited, then, finding in his silence something that disquieted her, she spoke again.
"Is all well? Why are you not with Lucas?"
"All's well," he said, but he left her second question unanswered. He was gazing down intently into the clear water.
Seconds passed. She glanced at him once or twice, but he seemed unaware of her scrutiny. He made no movement to meet it. His dark face brooded over the stream, almost as if she were not there.
Her heart began to throb with thick, uneven strokes. What had he come to say to her? And why did he stand thus silent? There was something tragic about him, something almost terrible.
She waited beside him in wordless foreboding. Whatever was coming she felt powerless to avert. She could only brace herself to meet the inevitable.
In some fashion, though he never glanced her way, he must have been aware of her agitation, for when he spoke again there was some measure of reassurance in his voice, emotionless though it was.
"I shan't alarm you," he said. "I shan't even ask you to answer me, much less to treat me kindly. But you've got to hear me, that's all. I'm not telling you for my own sake, only because Luke has ordained that you must know. I daresay you thought it strange that I should have come back so soon. It probably made you wonder."
"It did," said Anne, in a low voice.
"I knew it would." A note of grim satisfaction sounded in the rejoinder. He jerked his head a little with a touch of the old arrogance. "Well, I am here to explain. I knew the odds were dead against me when I started--as they are to-day. All the same you are to understand that I came back when I did because I had just heard that you were free and I was mad enough to dream that in spite of everything I should one day persuade you to marry me."
He paused an instant, but he kept his eyes upon the water as if he were reading something in the crystal depths.
Anne still waited beside him, her hands clasped tightly upon her drooping flowers.
He continued very rapidly, as though he wished to have done. "That was my true reason for coming back. I don't know if I deceived you any on that point. I tried to. But anyway I didn't manage to deceive Lucas. He sees most things. He knows for instance that I--care for you"--almost angrily he flung the words--"and he thinks you ought to know it, in case"--his lips twisted into a queer smile--"you care for me. It's a preposterous idea anyway. I've told him so. But he won't be easy till I've given you the chance to trample on me. Guess he thinks I owe you that. Maybe I do. Well--you have your opportunity."
"Do you think I want--that?" Anne said, her voice very low.
His hands clenched. "I can't say," he said. "Most women would. But--if you want to know--I'd sooner be trampled. I've promised I'll play the straight game, and I'm playing it. I'm telling you the raw truth. I love you. I have it in me to make you know it. But--"
"But you love Lucas better" she said.
He nodded. "Just that. Also, Lucas is a good man. He will set your happiness first all his life. While I--while I"--he stooped a little, still staring downwards as if he watched something--"while I, Lady Carfax," he said, speaking very quietly, "might possibly succeed in making you happy, but it wouldn't be the same thing. You would have to live my life--not I yours. I am not like Lucas. I shouldn't be satisfied with--a little."
"And you think that is all I can offer him?" she said.
He made a sharp gesture of repudiation. "I have no theories on that subject. I believe you would satisfy him. I believe--ultimately--you would both find the happiness we are all hunting for."
"And you?" Anne said, her voice very low.
He straightened himself with a backward fling of the shoulders, but still he did not look at her. "I, Lady Carfax!" he said grimly. "I don't fit into the scheme of things anyway. I was just pitchforked into your life by an accident. It's for you to toss me out again."
Anne was silent. She stood with her face to the sinking sun. She seemed to be gathering her strength.
At last, "What will you do?" she asked in the same hushed voice. "Where will you go?"
He turned slowly towards her. "I really don't know. I haven't begun to think."
His eyes looked deeply into hers, but they held no passion, no emotion of any sort. They made her think with a sudden intolerable stab of pain of that night when he had put out the fire of his passion to receive her kiss. He had told her once that that kiss was the greatest thing that had ever happened to him. Did he remember it now, she wondered, as she met those brooding eyes, still and dark and lonely as they had been then, unfathomable as a mountain pool. She did not fear to meet them. Only a vast, surging pity filled her soul. She understood him so well--so well.
"Nap," she said tremulously, "what can I say to you? What can I do?"
He put out a quiet, unfaltering hand and took hers. "Don't be too good to me," he said. "Don't worry any on my account. If you do, maybe Luke will notice and misunderstand. He's so damnably shrewd." A brief smile crossed his face. "I'll tell you what to do, Lady Carfax, and when it's done you'll feel better. Come with me now to Lucas--it's his own idea--and tell him you've no use for me. Put it how you like. Women can always do